It is the 1930s and Young Bronx native, Bobby tries to make it to Hollywood with help from an uncle who’s a Star agent with the big Studios. But he falls for his uncle’s secretary who (of course) already has an affair with the powerful man…

While it is understood there is still interest for whatever additions to Allen’s filmed pedigree comes our way, his pattern of complaisance became a comfort zone and an enemy of his own creation. As always Allen criticizes what he loves (family, art, etc) throwing one liners taking place in familiar territories (Hollywood).

If the first part is bearable, it rapidly runs out of gas, getting to a point where… it is pointless. This is not even mild Woody, it is boring as Hell (and not as hot).

The only thing keeping this ship from hitting an iceberg (it melts before the end) and sinking completely is legendary Italian cinematographer Vittorio Storaro sharing his magic.